


Old Time Rock 'N' Roll

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Babies, Character Death, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Reader Death, Reader Insert, Sex, Smut, daddy!dean, possible triggers, tw: death in childbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: Response to a challenge on Tumblr. Dean is reminiscing but there's no changing the past....





	Old Time Rock 'N' Roll

 

_ You span round, rolling your shoulder as you bent your knees, dancing for his smiles. He turned up the music, slapping his hand on his thigh in time as you kept rotating your hips, giving him a flash of the white cotton panties underneath your short skirt. _

_ A night off and a bottle of whiskey between the both of you, an empty bunker and some old records that Dean had been dragging around with him for years. AC/DC, Metallica, Led Zeppelin - the songs became one beat and you laughed loudly as Dean offered you the whiskey again. _

The whiskey burned as it hit the back of his throat, and he dropped the bottle back onto the table with a thud, his thumb caressing the curved neck of the bottle. His eyes looked up to the thick wooden shelves opposite him and the rows of vinyl albums he’d collected, or found in the Men Of Letters archives.

Standing from the table, Dean walked over to the shelves, his calloused fingers reaching out and tracing the spines of several old records. He stopped as he came to one, pulling it out and flipping it in his hands, contemplating the record player.

After a few moments, he pulled the vinyl from its casing, carrying it to the player, treating it carefully as he placed it on the turntable and slid one finger under the tonearm as the record started to spin. There was a slight crackle as the stylus hit the black surface, and Dean’s eyes fell shut as the song started.

**_Just take those old records off the shelf, I'll sit and listen to 'em by myself_ **

_ You shimmied over to him, taking a swig of the whiskey before singing along. ‘Today's music ain't got the same soul,’ your voice was a little wobbly as you bent down, giving Dean an ample view of your cleavage. ‘I like that old time rock ‘n’ roll -’ _

_ Dean’s hands slipped around your waist as you stood straight, pulling you down into his lap, prompting you to yelp loudly before a fit of giggles left you. _

_ ‘Don’t try to take me to a disco,’ you kept singing, wiggling your hips on Dean’s lap. ‘You’ll never even get me out on the floor.’ _

_ Dean chuckled, his thumbs slipping up and under the skirt you wore, caressing the skin there. ‘Baby, I’ll take you wherever I want.’ _

_ ‘Aren’t I already where you want me?’ _

Dean turned away from the deck, reaching for the bottle of whiskey again and taking a large swig, the music moving through him and compounding his misery. He slouched back into the chair, before leaning forward with his hands pressed into his sore eyes.

**_In ten minutes I'll be late for the door_ **

He’d been too late.

_ ‘You’re always where I want you,’ Dean muttered, pulling you closer, his lips brushing over your collarbone, making you shudder in his hold. ‘Right by my side.’ _

_ ‘Dean…’ You whined, grinding down against his hardening cock, prominent through the denim. ‘Want you…’ _

_ ‘I got you,’ he mumbled into your skin, making you shiver in anticipation. ‘I always got you, baby.’ _

**_I like that old time rock'n' roll, still like that old time rock'n' roll_ **

Dean’s fingers dug into his skin, leaving nail marks around his temples where he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop the tears. He could still feel your touch on his skin, almost burning with the memory of it. Three years, he’d held you close.

He hadn’t held you close enough.

**_That kind of music just soothes the soul_ **

_ Dean slid one hand underneath your skirt, pulling your underwear to the side so he could get to your slick folds. You whimpered and writhed as he pushed two fingers into your cunt, only able to get shallow, short thrusts at the difficult angle, but it was enough to get your motor running. He curled his thumb, striking your clit with the accuracy he seemed to always possess and your core clenched in response. _

_ ‘Always so wet and ready for me, baby -’ _

_ ‘Please…’ You mewled, and Dean grinned, slipping his free hand around the back of your neck, bringing your mouth flush to his. His fingers kept working at your pliant flesh, making you moan into his mouth as his tongue stroked along yours. _

_ As he kissed you breathless, pushing you higher and higher with his rough touch, your own hands moved from his shoulders, your nails dragging down the plaid of his shirt. As you passed over his chest, despite the layers, Dean hissed at the harsh touch on his nipples and you smiled, pulling your mouth away from his. _

_ ‘Minx.’ He scolded and you grinned, using your hand to squeeze the swelling bulge in his pants. _

_ ‘You love it.’ _

Dean’s fingers slipped from the bottle as he dropped his forehead to the table, blinking away the tears from his stinging eyes. He coughed away the sob that was burgeoning in his throat as he remembered too clearly the night you’d been taken. The whiskey wasn’t doing the job.

The music kept playing, and he tried to shake away the memories, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath, focusing on that one night, the night you and he had together, the  _ last _ night before you were gone.

**_I reminisce about the days of old, with that old time rock 'n' roll_ **

_ ‘Sing for me.’ Dean’s voice was husky as he pulled his hands away from your pussy, sliding them underneath your thighs to lift you in his lap, pushing you up onto the table. ‘Wanna hear your voice, baby.’ He tugged at your panties, pulling them down your legs until they dangled from one booted foot. _

_ ‘I can’t sing -’ You whined, gasping as Dean pushed your thighs apart, hitching your skirt up high so he could get at your pussy. ‘Dean -’ _

_ ‘Just sing,’ he ordered, using the tip of his index finger to massage your clit and you fell back onto your hands, trying to focus on the song. _

_ ‘W-won’t go to hear...shit, Dean…’ His tongue darted out and traced the slit of your cunt, splitting your labia with his tongue, and you cried out, barely feeling his chuckle against the tide of your oncoming orgasm. ‘I’d rather hear some...oh god...oh...soul...ah….’ _

_ ‘Keep going princess.’ _

‘Start playing old time rock 'n' roll,’ Dean muttered, curling his arms around his head, sobs emerging freely. He hated this weakness inside him, the way he had to remember the pain. It took everything he had to hold himself together day to day, but tonight...tonight he could only lose himself in the agonising memory of you.

_ ‘Taste so good, baby.’ Dean pulled away, his chin glistening with your moisture, and you watched as he unbuckled his pants, a groan leaving his lips as he freed himself from the denim confines of his trousers. ‘Come here, wanna feel that hot little pussy around me.’ _

_ You gasped as he jerked you forward off the table, catching you in his strong arms and lowering you onto his cock. The sweet strength of his length burying inside you was enough to make your eyes cross and your orgasm blossom to life again in your core, and Dean grunted as your body flexed around him. _

**_Call me a relic, call me what you will_ **

_ He worked up his momentum, letting you bounce and gyrate on his cock as the chair creaked, his hands wandering over your body freely. Your shirt was pushed up, over your tits, exposing swollen, hard nipples to Dean’s curious mouth, his lips curling around the hardened nubs eagerly. You whined loudly at the dual sensation of his tongue teasing your breast and his cock thrusting into your fluttering channel, fingers digging into his shoulders as he kept pushing you higher and higher. _

**_Say I'm old-fashioned, say I'm over the hill_ **

_ ‘I’m close, baby, I’m gonna -’ _

_ ‘In me,’ you cried out. ‘God, Dean, finish in me.’ _

_ He didn’t argue like he normally would, high on whiskey and love, and as you kept writhing on him, the ache in your thighs was not enough to deter you from your goal. Your climax hit, swift and intense, and you felt your body clamp down on Dean’s, unwilling to let him go. He spilled into you, his face buried in your chest, his hands almost claws against your lower back. _

_ ‘I love you,’ you whispered, wrapping your arms around his head where it was against your chest, burying your nose in his thick, messy hair. _

_ He never said it back. _

He never said it back.

He hated it so much that he’d never said it back that night. He wanted so much to say it all the time now, but it was too late. Too little, too late.

The whiskey wasn’t working. It wasn’t numbing the too-new pain in his heart, his soul, his  _ everything. _

The song ended, and the album kept spinning, making that awful crackling noise. He could still see you dancing, still feel you dancing, right there in that room. To him, you’d always be dancing - he couldn’t reconcile the happy, free spirit you’d been with him, to the lifeless body covered by a sheet in the morgue, cut up because there’d been no other way.

As if on cue, a scream cut through the air, and somewhere in the bunker, Sam’s door opened. Dean waited, pushing the bottle away, realising he’d barely touched it. Of course it wasn’t working - drinking wasn’t on his list of priorities right now.

‘Dean?’ Sam’s voice cut through the crying, which was only getting closer, and Dean knew he’d picked her up from her crib, where he’d left her to sleep. He knew the cry. She was hungry. ‘She wants you.’

‘She wants her bottle.’ Dean wiped at his eyes, standing up and turning to his brother. Sam’s arms were full of a pink, wriggling bundle, which he handed to Dean almost immediately. ‘Do you mind making it up?’ Sam nodded and smiled, darting from the room.

Dean looked down at the bright eyes of his three-month-old daughter, the last piece of you he had left. An unexpected and complicated pregnancy, an emergency cesarean and you were taken from him. It was so human and mundane for the existence you’d shared as hunters, but no less painful.

He could choose the bottle of whiskey. Dean allowed himself to cry, allowed himself to indulge in the pain, but never in front of her. He could feel hopeless when he was alone, but for her, he’d fight the world. He’d promised you, as you clung to his hand and begged for the pain to stop, he’d promised you that he would keep her safe.

One tiny hand wrapped around his comparatively huge hand as the crying stopped, and Dean smiled.

‘Yeah, I got you, baby. Always got you,’ he whispered, leaning in close as the baby girl cooed, her hand grasping his finger tightly. ‘Always got you.’

**_Today' music ain't got the same soul_ **

**_I like that old time rock 'n' roll_ **

**_Still like…_ **

 


End file.
